


Snowdrop

by Purpleskiesofdragons



Series: Pick a Flower [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Attempted Murder, Betrayal, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, How Do I Tag, Inside jokes, Kidnapping, Lovers To Enemies, Pining, Weapons, Will add more tags as the story goes, and stuff, everything used to be beautiful and nothing hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2020-09-06 07:35:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20287792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleskiesofdragons/pseuds/Purpleskiesofdragons
Summary: Curiosity is the fuel for opportunity, but  opportunity can serve as winter warmth or a forest fire, depending on how much petroleum you pour.And opportunity, in Ariah’s case, was something that should have been poked with a ten-foot pole once and left alone from them on, but after the mysterious kidnapping of her best friend, Ariah has no choice but to come a little closer.She just hopes not to get burned along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello :D  
this story is *checks record* Snowdrop Three, the first of which was written at the beginning of eighth grade, revised toward the end of the same grade, and is now undergoing its third and most major revision and rewrite. It will take a long time, it will be slow, but this will be completed. Sometime. Maybe.  
First officially posted and restarted on 8/17/2019.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooooo welcome to chapter one of Snowdrop Three! 
> 
> I decided on round three that the beginning before had so many plot holes, inconsistencies, etc, that it would be scrapped in the self-proclaimed rubbish bin. So here we are.

** _Six Years Ago_ **

_ Papa's concert was on a stormy night. _

_ Ariah stood in the doorway, clutching a teddy bear’s limp paw in one hand as she watched her father snap harsh words into the phone pressed to his ear. The conversation had been going on for a solid half hour, and while she was desperate to interrupt, she knew that Papa would only become angrier if she broke in again. She had tried three times already, to no avail. _

_ “One hour!” a tinny voice pleaded from the phone. “Just the one, and you can go home. You lead this orchestra, Terrence. They need you.” _

_ “And I already said, the sky is raining hell down on us,” Papa growled back. “You’re in more danger of losing your conductor on the road instead of in the theater.” The phone let out a stream of more gritty noise, to which Papa replied in equally angry fervor, before he finally let out a stream of curses and slammed the phone back into its reciever. Silence was suspended in the air for a few moments, broken only by the rain pounding against the window like a desperate beggar, until Papa let out a long sigh and dragged one hand through his hair. _

_ “Little lotus, go get your rain boots and coat,” he said wearily. “Your mother still hasn’t come back from work yet, and you can’t be left alone in this weather. I hate it, but you have to come with me. Be on your best behavior, okay?” Ariah nodded silently, and retreated upstairs, the sounds of her father stomping to the coatroom echoing up the stairway behind her. _

_ \---------- _

_ In science, Ariah had learned about Newton’s Laws-- objects in motion stay in motion unless acted upon by an outside force, and so on. The rain was to be an object in motion that seemed utterly resistant to any force Papa’s truck presented. Sheets of water lashed its windows, and droplets the size of hail thundered onto the roof. Ariah shied away from one of the windows as a bright flash of lightning split open the sky, illuminating the skyline and the cars all trapped in the thrall of the pouring rain. A boom of thunder followed a few seconds later. _

_ The theater slowly came into view as Papa finally maneuvered his way through a stoplight, its green light barely visible, and parked against the curb. Ariah had read about King’s Theater for a school project; originally named Loew’s Kings Theater, the building had been built in 1929 and had since undergone restoration, was renamed to simply Kings Theater, and the original design had been saved. Now, as Ariah had heard from the numerous performances she went to see with Papa, hundreds of acts every year performed at Kings Theater, with Papa proudly conducting in the orchestra pit. _

_ “Come on,” Papa mouthed to her as he yanked his car door open and quickly shielded his rain jacket and suit with an umbrella, before crossing around the Ariah’s side of the car. Ariah followed obediently, tugging her coat around her as rain began to fall within the scope of the umbrella. Luckily, the awning over the theater came quickly, and Papa was able to duck out of the rain quickly, sheathing his umbrella in a holder by the door as he walked in. _

_ One confrontation with the director later, Ariah sat nervously in her seat close to the orchestra pit, her boots and dress still uncomfortably wet. The red curtain was still swept over the front of the stage, hiding whoever danced behind it, for now. While she had seen performances like these a hundred times, the dimming of the theater lights and the quiet melody of the orchestra starting their piece never failed to glorify about that surreal, precious moment when the curtains drew aside. _

_ A single spotlight fixed on the stage, shedding a beam of light on a lone figure standing in pink on the stage. The figure began to dance, their limbs sweeping through the hair like a bird’s wings, going faster and faster until their pirouette transformed them into a living top, spinning around the other dancers that had begun to slide from the wings to join her. Their outfits were simple: flowing gold sleeves that swirled like bird's feathers when they twirled, and skirts that rippled with each movement of the dancers' legs. _

_ Ariah allowed herself to become lost in the performance, entranced by the hypnotic quality of the dancers’ grace and the corresponding swell of the orchestra. She was so enthralled by their performance that she was almost taken by surprise when the music flared up in one large crescendo and ended with a dramatic flourish. The notes were still echoing in the theater's silence before the audience started clapping, drowning out the tempest that still howled outside. Ariah was still frozen in her chair, awe racing through every part of her body, when a tremendous crash shook the theater and the skies above let themselves in with a roar. _

_ \---------- _

It was going to rain again tonight. 

The sky had been streaked with red that morning, as if someone had taken red pastels and violently smeared them against the sky’s backdrop, ensuring the promise of rain. Sure enough, as Ariah paused in front of her apartment, if she tipped her head back, she could see that the puffy cumulus clouds above would soon congregate into large dark masses in a few hours. 

_ Best get indoors _. 

Ariah dug her set of keys out of her bag and looked up at the brick building she’d known her entire life. Her parents had bought the second floor of 117 Eighth Avenue twelve years before she was born, and though it had been built in 1920, the place still promised a good upkeep that held true for decades. Ariah slid her key into the lock and twisted sharply. The door opened smoothly without a creak, casting sunlight onto a smoothly worn staircase that climbed upwards. Ariah mounted the staircase, running her hands over the wood, the material weathered to a fine polish by the caresses of many people over the years. She silently counted the steps as her feet landed on them. _ Twelve, thirteen, fourteen... _

When she reached nineteen, she stopped in front of a door labeled with a simple gold 2, and let herself into the apartment, breathing in the scent of home.

Home was the faint scent of lavender, of old used books, of wood and instruments. The carpet was soft and plushy under Ariah's feet as she kicked her boots off. Her backpack followed on a nearby table, Ariah breathing out a small sigh as the weight lifted away. Outside was people and crowds and voices and work, but with April soon drawing to a close and finals on the horizon, a significant seven-hour part of her day would soon be free. And a few months later, in mid-August, college would rear its massive head. 

College. Right. Ariah had received the letter a few weeks ago, the letter shoved through her mailslot by her perpetually irate landlord. It had informed her that she had been accepted into Cornell University-- _ an Ivy League school! _\-- and she could pursue a degree, with a psychology major and music minor. The letter itself was sitting on the kitchen table, right next to the Folder.

** _Two Years Ago _ **

_ “I’ve come to inquire about the progression of Mira and Terrence West’s case?” _

_ A pause. _

_ “And you are?” _

_ “Ariah West, their daughter. Have you heard anything, sir?” _

_ “ID?” She presented him with her wallet. _

_ Another pause, and a hasty apology as the policeman vanished into a back room. Three minutes later, he returned with a manilla folder with a neat red stamp in the center. It was placed with an almost apologetic manner into her hands. _

_ “What-what is this?” _

_ “Your parents were killed in a hit and run four years ago, in front of Kings Theater when trying to leave, yes?” _

_ Her voice trembled a little as she replied. “Yes.” _

_ "This was after the big storm that night? The one--" _

_ "With the destroyed roof, yes. It was all over the news for a month." A silence. Then-- _

_ “We’ve tried to investigate traffic cams and run license plates numerous times. The rain was too heavy to pick much out, but the license plate--” the policeman drew the folder away from her and flipped toward a page with a fuzzy image of the back of a truck-- “The license plate wasn’t a registered number. It was a series of zero’s, and no one logged that in our database.” _

_ “So could you find them or not?” _

_ “I’m sorry, ma’am. We had to close the case a few months after it was initially reported because no evidence could be tracked down about the van.” _

_ “It’s a--” _

_ “Cold case now, yes. We’re truly sorry, but we reached the limit with whatever information we could find. There was next to nothing.” _

_ Her voice shook as she nodded, taking the proffered folder back. “I’m sorry to waste your time. Thank you, sir.” _

\----------

Every year, on the anniversary of their death, Ariah would sit at the kitchen table and slowly flip through the details of the case. She’d practically memorized the details of the case, committed the blurry traffic camera photos to memory-- and every time, there remained the solid fact that, true to the policeman’s word, there was next to no defining features of the truck that had crashed into her parents’ car as they tried to leave the theater. It was a simple white service van, except for the telltale glint of a solid steel bumper that promised anything on its receiving end a painful death. All attempts to find the van were marked UNSUCCESSFUL in red print. 

Ariah let out her breath in one long exhale, averting her gaze from the table to the mostly bare walls of her apartment. She hadn’t bothered to rehang her parents’ artwork after that night, choosing only to leave their pictures up. On every wall, her mother and father smiled back at her from their prisons of glass and wood, holding books or instruments, or sometimes even herself. Every picture represented a time long forgotten-- when Papa wasn’t conducting and he used to play cello (_ that photo hung over the couch, the dance of the bow and his wide grin frozen in time _ ), when Mama used to dance around the kitchen as she cooked ( _ it was lasagna one time, and no matter how many times Ariah made it, it never tasted quite the same _ ), when they’d grasp her hands and swing her between them as they walked through the streets of Brooklyn ( _ they used to take her to Prospect Park, swinging her the whole way, faces split open it those warm smiles she’d never see again _). 

Ariah sighed again, drifting over to her window, where the first brushes of dusk were starting to paint the sky. Clouds were gathering fast, and if she pressed her hand against the window, she could already feel the chill, the spark and promise of rain on its way. 

It was going to rain again tonight. 


	2. Chapter 2

Ariah leaned back in her chair, her foot tapping out a nervous rhythm against the blue carpeting of covering the airport terminal. It was striped with dark purple, perhaps to imitate a classy plaid pattern, but had no such look with the amount of dirt caked into it, resulting in a discolored muddy brown color. Airports were covered in all mannerisms of dirt and travel residue, but only a few minutes more, and she would be free to leave the place. 

Kalani, a close friend of hers, had moved to the practically opposite side of the country to study biotechnology, and was last heard pursuing a degree in veterinary medicine, according to her email from roughly four months ago. After one sleep-dazed (and rather confusing) call at one a.m. the night before, Ariah had established that Kalani was returning to the East Coast to take part in a research program funded by her college, she needed somewhere to stay, and that Ariah was to “get her butt over to the airport by 8:30 in the morning sharp, or I’ll walk home from the airport myself and murder you for being a horrible friend.” 

As if on cue, an excited voice and the click-click of heels pierced the chatter of the crowd departing the plane; Ariah’s head shot up seconds before a pink and brown blur slammed into her, arms wrapping around her in an octopus-like fashion and pinning her to the chair.

“You’re crushing me,” Ariah managed out as the form now sitting on her lap squished closer, cutting off her air supply a bit more. 

“Good,” a voice snickered into one ear, before their arms loosened, and Ariah was met with Kalani’s face inches from hers. Her pink-streaked brown hair was rumpled, and there were heavy shadows under her eyes that suggested a severe lack of proper sleep, but her eyes were glinting with their shine and dance of familiar mirth.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Ariah teased, flicking at a tangled strand of hair that had fallen into front of Kalani’s face. “The plane clearly hasn’t done someone any favors.” 

“I get it, I’m ugly,” Kalani shot back, tossing her hair back in a dramatic fashion. “But you’re even grosser-- I should book my flights even earlier just to see how horrible you look fresh out of bed.” 

“Rude. Now get off, before I throw you off.”

“You’re too weak,” Kalani snorted, but obliged, hopping up and fixing her outfit. Kalani’s style could only be described as inventive; she frequently dabbled in the clothing tastes of previous decades, and sometimes looked as though she’d walked right out of a history book. Today, she was wearing a tailored wool coat that was buttoned and tied neatly at the waist. Her hair, barely crushing her shoulders, was curled in gentle waves, and a beret was perched at a defiant angle on her head.

“Nice look,” Ariah commented as she slung Kalani’s backpack over one shoulder. Kalani smiled gratefully, rolling her shoulders from the relieved added weight. 

“I’ve gotten a few side looks, but I can’t help if they don’t like properly dressed women,” she said, briskly taking the lead. “Whoever said that 40’s fashion should die out was an idiot. I mean, the coats!” Ariah nodded, not really following along, and steered her in the correct direction toward the baggage claim. 

After Kalani’s suitcase had been found (it had been misplaced and nearly taken by a young woman that didn’t speak fifteen words of English, which had resulted in a lot of vivid gestures, arguing, and a very frustrated Kalani), they’d found a taxi, and were now reclining in the backseat as bad pop music echoed tinnily through the car. 

“I don’t want to tell him to change the station, but I want him to change the station,” Kalani muttered to Ariah, her eyes flicking to the glass separating the front and back seats. Ariah muffled a laugh. It was nice to fall into the familiar rhythm of constant banter with Kalani; Kalani’s wildly extroverted personality and steadfast commitment to both friendships and passions had quickly prompted a friendship between the two in sixth grade and they soon graduated onto attending the same high school, renting an apartment together, and fostering several litters of kittens from their local humane society. Kalani’s year-and-a-half-long absence had stuck out like a sore thumb in the now-empty apartment, and Ariah was more than glad to have a bright presence bouncing around again. 

“How does dinner and ice cream sound to you?” she suggested. “I know a quick Mexican place, and there’s--”

“Haagen-Dazs,” Kalani finished with a groan. “I’ve missed it. There’s no time for proper ice cream breaks in California.” 

“And I’m not there to steal yours,” Ariah reminded her with a teasing grin. “Plus, one of the employees is sweet on you here. You don’t get admirers like that in college.” 

“Not on me,” Kalani scoffed. “Jack, or whatshisface, won’t get anywhere offering us fifteen percent-off coupons. He has to go to at least thirty if he wants a second look.”

“Twenty, at least? He’s a friend. How long has he been trying for? Three years?”

“Twenty-five percent, and two and a half,” Kalani amended. “But my point still stands.” She leaned closer a smirk twitching around her lips. “I saw a certain set of numbers on the side of your ice cream cup last time I visited.” Ariah’s cheeks warmed at the remark, and Kalani let out a triumphant laugh. “So I was right!” 

“I’m not interested,” she insisted.

“Just one date,” Kalani wheedled. “I humored him for a little while, but I hope that you didn’t abandon your visits when I wasn’t there. That’s the way to break a guy’s heart right there.” 

“I did not,” Ariah confirmed. She opened her mouth to continue, but was interrupted by the metallic whir of the glass divider sliding down, and the shift of fabric as the taxi driver turned around in his seat. 

“118 8th Avenue?” he asked in a tobacco-roughened voice. “Right here?” A faint wisp of smoke escaped his lips and Ariah tried not to wince as she nodded. He turned back around at her reply, rolling up the window again and turning up the radio, which had been thankfully switched to Billy Joel. 

“So you’ve been playing ‘cute regular that comes in for--’” Kalani squinted for a moment in thought-- “‘java chip ice cream every other Sunday?’” 

“Maybe.” 

“ _ Do _ you like him though?"

“Maybe.” 

“Would you go out with him if I bought you extra ice cream?”

“Maybe.” 

“Would you stop replying with _maybe_?”

“Maybe.” 

\-------

“Ah, I’ve missed this place,” Kalani sighed, setting her bag down on the stairs leading up to their apartment. “It’s been forever since this baby was used,” she added regretfully, digging a key out of her pocket. Ariah curled her fingers around the matching one in her own hand, remembering the day she and Kalani had gone to get their keys copied and chose to get corresponding flower keychains; Kalani had chosen clematis, for ingenuity, and Ariah with a snowdrop, for hope. It was hidden in her hand, but Ariah knew that Kalani’s keychain was still attached. Sure enough, the purple-painted metal glinted in the sun as Kalani fitted her key into the keyhole. The door opened with its familiar little click, revealing a hallway branching away from the small entrance hall, and a stairway leading to the second floor.

Abandoning all semblance of calm, Kalani let out an excited whoop, grabbed her suitcase in one hand, and bounded up the stairs. Ariah gave chase, anticipation stirring in her chest as they reached the nineteenth stair. Kalani was practically scrabbling at the door in her haste to open it, and it finally gave way after an awkward minute. Ariah couldn’t hold back a massive smile as Kalani stopped dead in the doorway, trembling slightly.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” she said, voice cracking slightly. “It’s been just a year and a half, but--”

“It’s home,” Ariah finished softly, taking the suitcase from Kalani’s slack hand. “Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more dynamic-building on kalani and ariah's friendship! 
> 
> based off a friend and i's 1am discussions 
> 
> we sadly get more ridiculous as the night (morning?) goes on but oh well


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sponsored by haagen-dazs just sayin'

“Your frozen bean juice is ready.”

A beat.

“Your _ what _?” There was an odd kind of tension in the air, the kind that one might feel when their entire family suddenly turns to look at them, each member subsequently growing three heads and extra eyeballs; overall, a very awkward and rather embarrassing silence. Kalani stood, aghast, beside Ariah, her eyes flicking back and forth between Ariah and Jack and her mouth moving soundlessly. After a quick dinner, Ariah and Kalani had gone to get ice cream, at a time that they'd decided on years before and hadn't changed since. Sometime in their years of going, they'd met Jack, who worked at the same shift time as they visited and shared some of the same classes at their high school, and the three had become fast friends. 

Jack, who'd invented the nickname for Ariah's usual order in Kalani's absence, was now flushing, his face redder than a tomato, and Ariah was sure that she must have been an equal shade of scarlet. The silence was finally broken as Kalani regained the ability to speak, an incredulous look replacing the previous expression. 

“You,” she spoke slowly, enunciating each word purposefully, “_ memorized _ _ her_ _order,_ and call coffee ice cream _ frozen bean juice _?” Jack made a noise that could have been a “not really” or an “I can explain,” but Kalani overrode him, whirling on Ariah. “You never said anything about dating him!”

“I’m not--” Ariah spluttered. Kalani gave her a stink-eye. 

“You’re a horrible liar,” she said decisively. Turning back to Jack, who had lapsed back into a mortified quiet, she added, “I’d like the double chocolate chip, please. Give your girlfriend her bean juice to cool down before her head explodes.” Jack nodded, sliding Ariah’s ice cream over and moving to scoop out Kalani’s order. No sooner had he placed the cup on the counter, Kalani leaned forward, her voice just loud enough for both Ariah and Jack to hear.   
“After your shift is over, we are having a _ talk _.” 

\-------

“Explanation time,” Kalani announced after Jack had fled his position at the counter. All three were sitting on a bench not too far away from the ice cream shop-- well, Ariah and Jack were sitting on opposite sides of the bench, and Kalani was standing, fixing them both with a stern glare. “Start from the beginning, please.” 

“She always ordered the same thing,” Jack offered first. “Always at the same time as when you two came in, but she came in alone for a while. Didn’t take long to figure out that you’d probably gone to college, and she seemed lonely, so I just began having it ready.” 

“Cute,” Kalani commented. “Ariah?”

“Y-yeah,” Ariah confirmed. “He looked kind of surprised when I started coming alone, but since his shift was at a quiet time, we just talked for awhile after it was over.” 

“And the rest is history,” Kalani finished. She kept up her stony expression for a few more seconds before her face split into a huge grin and she tackled Jack in a hug. 

“I’ve missed you,” she said fondly, giving his hair a good-natured pat. Jack made a small noncommittal noise at the gesture. “And I know you missed me too.” 

“Can I have my wallet back?” he asked instead. Kalani chuckled and replaced it in his pocket, before plopping down between Ariah and Jack and crossing her legs. 

“So, what did you two do when I was away?” she asked with a waggle of her eyebrows. “Continue our bake-offs, at the very least?”  
“Yes, we did,” Ariah said, shooting a glare at Kalani. Kalani smiled sweetly back. “The same old things. Just with one less person.” 

“Ooh, snazzy,” Kalani said approvingly. She seemed to be in deep thought for a moment, before frowning. “Will I be reduced to a third-wheel now?” 

“You weren’t before,” Jack pointed out.

“But you got couple time and relationship building for a year and a half,” Kalani whined. “I don’t want to see you two acting all gross.”

“I am _ this _ close to actually murdering you,” Ariah warned. “One more remark, and I won’t even look for you when someone shows up to kidnap you.” 

“I’m wounded,” Kalani pouted. “But before I make it into this week’s obituaries, can we at least make this amazing pumpkin muffin recipe I discovered out in California?” 

“I’ve got chocolate chips back at my apartment,” Jack said. “Let me see the list?”

“Spices and stuff we can get,” Kalani said briskly, handing him her phone. “It’s a bit of a drive, but I can get us to the one down by the little square in Prospect Park. Bartel-Pritchard, you know it?” Jack nodded. “Onwards!” 

\-------

Grocery shopping proved to be an exhausting but wildly interesting experience, as Jack and Kalani argued over which brands to get, if she was _ sure _ that those were cloves, and do you _ really _ know which aisle you can find canned pumpkin in? Ariah mediated and held control over the basket, firmly stopping Jack and Kalani from adding in an unnecessary ingredient that the other insisted was amazing in some dish or another. 

Finally, once they’d left the grocery store, Jack tasked with carrying the bags, they piled into Jack’s Mercedes and drove to Ariah’s apartment. Another short fight ensued before it was mutually agreed on that yes, the 1960’s radio had several classic hits. A comfortable but rare silence fell over the trio as Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong began to fill the car.

_ Say "Night-ie night" and kiss me _

_ Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me _

_ While I'm alone and blue as can be _

_ Dream a little dream of me… _

\-------

"Alright, we need someone to do the dry and wet ingredients," Kalani said. When all the ingredients had been gathered, she'd taken full command of the kitchen and was holding a ladle like a fire poker. "Jack, you do wet, since you wanted to play with the pumpkin paste. Ariah is probably better at measuring, so she can do dry. Alright, so the recipe says..." 

"We can bake," Ariah cut in dryly, dumping a cup of flour into the waiting bowl. "Let me run the operation, since you've been living off ramen for, what, the past year?" 

"Not true--" 

"If you're trying to set us up, third-wheeling isn't going to help," Jack put in cheekily as he measured out the sugar. "There! Three-quarters of a cup on the dot!" Kalani opened and closed her mouth several times indignantly, unintentionally creating a fantastic imitation of a fish, before slamming the ladle on the counter and stalking into the guest bedroom. 

"If it means anything to you, I didn't really mean that," Jack said in the silence. "If you don't want to-- you know, date-- that's fine. Friends is okay. Cooking is okay."

"Thanks," Ariah replied, her cheeks flushing. Maybe she had been thinking along those lines, but it was a relief to have the words come out of someone else’s mouth. Jack grinned, though he looked a bit pink too. 

They worked in silence for a little while, the quiet taps of measuring spoons against spice containers and bowls filling the space. It was nice, Ariah admitted to herself. Falling back into the natural rhythm they’d built up in Kalani’s absence, she and Jack would wordlessly pass each other ingredients, with stifled grins as one or the other spilled something on the counter. When they finally managed to combine both mixtures and add chocolate chips (Jack had obviously stolen a few), Ariah and Jack exchanged a few glances between the recipe and the kitchen. 

"So... Kalani preheated the oven, but I don't actually don't know what to do next," Jack confessed finally. "I was going to search up a recipe for muffins because I noticed that you kind of like the little cafeteria croissants for breakfast. However, actually baking them is a different story." 

"I can’t believe we’ve never made muffins before,” Ariah sighed, shaking her head. “A muffin pan and liners might be helpful," she added wryly. She received a sarcastically shocked expression in return. "Here, there's a pan beneath the oven. I'll get the liners." 

"You have a cool kitchen," Jack whistled, pulling out the correct tin with a clatter from a stack. "Pity we never baked in here more. How many sheets and pans do you _ need _?" 

"This used to be my aunt's, so I don't know," Ariah said, shrugging. "She ran off and left me control of the apartment, but I guess she knows that I don't have much of a job except being a barista on weekends, so she pays rent." 

"Nice." 

Re-emerging with the muffin liners, she peeled a few apart and began poking them into the tins; Jack caught on quickly and worked from the other end until the entire pan was filled. 

"Now the oven," Ariah instructed. "Ten minutes is good for now. We'll need to turn the muffins midway through, so keep an eye on the timer." 

"Aye aye, captain," Jack replied, saluting, and put the pan into the oven. Ariah stuck her tongue out at him behind his back. 

\------- 

After a few near-burns where Jack almost forgot to put on oven mitts while handling the muffin pan, the muffins were safely cooling on the stove top, the counter was clean, and all ingredients were put away in Ariah's small but well-stocked pantry. 

"I'd say I did very well for my first time making muffins," Jack declared. "There could have been many things that could have gone wrong, buuuut they didn't!" 

"Except the part where you almost burned yourself, yes, nothing went wrong," Ariah corrected.

"Touche. If my siblings ever let me in the kitchen, maybe I wouldn’t’ve, but,” he let out a dramatic sigh, “ever since one time where I burnt some ramen, I was never allowed in the kitchen again.”

"I didn't know you had siblings," Ariah remarked, wisely heeding the unsaid cue of d_ on’t ask how or why I burnt ramen _. “You never said.” Jack shrugged.

"I've actually got four," he said. "Alexander's the oldest, then Jihe, then Damien, then me, then Kisha. We mainly rely on each other a lot-- we're pretty close-knit as siblings go."

"I never had any," Ariah said wistfully. "I wonder what it would be like."

"Hell," Jack said seriously. "They steal your stuff all the time. And tease you. And cause you to mess up. A lot." 

"But you love them."

"I'd trust them with my life," he agreed with a soft smile. They had only seconds to enjoy the peace before--

"LOVEBIRDS!" Jack and Ariah both jumped as Kalani barreled back into the kitchen. "How'd the muffins go?" 

"Fine without your help," Ariah teased. Kalani pouted and took up her ladle again, and pointed it with a flourish at Jack.

“I challenge you to a duel for Ariah’s love,” she said dramatically. “To arms, foul foe!” Jack, grinning, yanked open a cabinet and pulled out a whisk.

“I accept your challenge, foolhardy knight,” he said, raising one eyebrow tauntingly. “Shall I take the first move, or are you too yellow-bellied to?” He sprang back at once as Kalani moved, thrusting her ladle forward, and neatly blocked her strike with the whisk, before swiping downwards toward her leg. She hopped back as well, blocking the blow, and made another jab at his side. Ariah watched as the duel intensified between the two, each surprisingly holding their ground against the other, and tried to stifle a laugh every time Jack’s whisk made a little _ kshhh _ noise when it thwacked against Kalani’s ladle. Finally, Kalani, with an odd twist and spin, ducked under Jack’s swipe and jabbed him in the ribs. 

“I win,” she crowed. Jack looked surprised for a few heartbeats, his gaze flicking back and forth between the ladle and Kalani, but quickly replaced his expression with a good-natured smile. 

“Where’d you learn to fight?” he asked. Though it was hard to detect, there was a certain edge to it, something that revealed that he was a bit more than simply curious about Kalani’s technique.

“Fencing,” Kalani said smoothly, but judging from her eyes narrowing slightly, she had noticed Jack’s tone as well. Her suspicious expression was also gone in less than a second as she moved to squish Ariah into a hug, planting a kiss on her cheek and flipping off Jack. 

“She’s mine now,” she teased. “You’re dead.” 

“Tragic,” Jack lamented. “Can this dead loser take some muffins when they’re done?”

“I suppose,” Kalani conceded. Crossing over to a kitchen cabinet, she dug around in it until she unearthed a large can of iodized salt, which she shook threateningly in Jack’s direction. “No haunting this apartment, or I’ll exorcise you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you want a pumpkin muffin recipe... 
> 
> 3/4 cup white sugar  
1/4 cup vegetable oil  
2 eggs  
3/4 cup canned pumpkin  
1/4 cup water  
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour  
3/4 teaspoon baking powder  
1/2 teaspoon baking soda  
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves  
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon  
1/4 teaspoon salt  
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg  
1/2 cup semisweet chocolate chips (optional)
> 
> Procedure:  
1) Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F (200 degrees C). Grease and flour muffin pan or use paper liners.  
2) Mix sugar, oil, eggs. Add pumpkin and water. In separate bowl mix together the baking flour, baking soda, baking powder, spices and salt. Add wet mixture and stir in chocolate chips (optional).  
3) Fill muffin cups 2/3 full with batter. Bake in preheated oven for 20 to 25 minutes.  
[For step three, turn the muffins in the oven halfway through baking time, then let it finish baking]


	4. Chapter 4

On a normal night, one wouldn’t normally expect someone to be conversing at your door at half past midnight, but Ariah was roused from a light sleep to hushed voices in the near-silent apartment. Warily, she grabbed the bat that was always present by her bed (as one does when living in New York), and crept toward her bedroom door. The voices became more distinct as she approached, and with a shock, she realized that they were both _very_ familiar.

“State your name, Pack, rank, and intention.” Jack’s voice was low, bordering on dangerous, and with a shiver, Ariah imagined him to be aiming some kind of weapon. “I’ve been watching you for awhile. You’re getting clumsy. No one fights like that around here.” 

“I might say the same to you,” Kalani’s voice returned coolly. “I don’t see people fight like _ you _ around these parts, either, and I’ve lived here my whole life. And, I, if I might add, have been watching you, too.”

“Answer the question,” Jack said. 

“I’ll tell mine if you tell me yours.” 

“Fine.” 

“Kalani Riversoul, Bloodmoon. Guardian and protector of the last surviving member of the Moonclaw lineage.” There was a faint intake of breath. 

“I thought the Riversouls were all killed in the Great Battle,” Jack breathed.

“Clearly not,” Kalani countered. Ariah could hear the eyeroll in her tone. “And you?” A sigh.

“Jackyll Redclaw, Starchaser. Dispatch to watch movements on the Moonclaw line.” There was a huff of laughter from Kalani, but it was a forcefully exhaled one, a noise of disgust. 

“You really are impersonal, you know,” she said. “The girl you’ve been bonding with for a year and a half now, and you still call yourself a dispatch. Is that all she is? A target?” 

“And what about you?” Jack shot back. “We’re both guardians, so you know the mission in mind. Protect or assassinate-- there’s only two categories, and leaving for that year and a half isn’t doing you any favors. If anything, it’s made her more open.”

“I had a mission elsewhere,” Kalani said stiffly. “And there are operatives all over the city that have your movements recorded 24/7. You went to--” a brief pause-- “a 7-11 last Friday at seven thirty-three p.m. to buy a carton of milk and some Doritos, and left with a dollar twenty-three in change?” There was the muffled rasp of fabric, the sound of change clinking, then--

“Nice CCTV,” Jack grunted. “Why, do you think I’m going to suffocate someone with some skim milk and spicy chips?” 

“No, just proving a point,” Kalani replied. “But I’m just as curious about your question as you are. Are you here to protect or eliminate?” The silence that ensued prickled with a kind of tension and suspense that skittered under Ariah’s skin and left a deep, ugly feeling in her gut. As much as she was certain that neither would be trying to kill her-- they were her friends, after all-- she’d figured out so much about them in the past five minutes than she’d ever wanted to know in her entire life. If it was all a lie… Ariah swallowed, with difficulty, around the lump that was forming in her throat and tried to ignore the building wetness in her eyes. 

“Standby.” The response was so soft that Ariah wasn’t even sure she heard correctly. “I’ll receive further instructions later, but for the last few years, I’ve had no orders to move against her.” Ariah let her head rest against the wall as she let her fear ebb away a little, taking quiet, measured breaths and counting to ten slowly in her head. 

“I’m here to protect,” Kalani said after a few moments. “Been doing it since the accident.” Her voice took on a sharper note. “Will I have to classify you as a threat? Standby can go two ways, and if I have to keep you on a higher priority, I will.” The unsaid threat hung dark and ugly in the air, and Ariah shuddered at the tone she was unaccustomed to hearing from Kalani. 

“Try me,” Jack replied with an equal edge. There was another silence; morbidly, Ariah wondered if they engaged in frequent bouts of angry staring or if this was a first-time thing. 

“You should leave now,” Kalani said at last. “Before Ariah wakes up. She’s a light sleeper.” 

“I know,” Jack replied tartly. “Evening.” Ariah heard Kalani snort, and the click of a doorknob being twisted. 

Drawing back, she made it back to her bed, replacing the bat, and settled under the covers until she heard the telltale sound of the deadbolt falling back into place. Her heart was pounding so hard that she could feel her entire body pulsing with its rhythm, and the sick feeling came back to linger in the back of her throat as she heard Kalani’s soft footfalls and the door crack open. Ariah lay there, stock-still, forcing her breaths to rise and fall evenly, and after a little while, she heard a sympathetic sigh from Kalani, and the door closed. 

Now alone, the moonlight brushing a soft coat of white on her curtains, Ariah took a few measured breaths. _ In. Out. In. Out _ . _ Think this out logically, Ariah. Why would they hide this from you? _ To be fair, there was still a great deal she didn’t know about either of her friends, but they were usually pretty transparent about whatever was on their mind. _ Unless everything they’ve told you has been a cover-up and a lie to gain your trust _. 

It took a long time for Ariah to fall back asleep that night. 

\-------

“Is that a massive amount of eyeshadow, or did you really sleep that horribly?” Kalani commented when Ariah stumbled out of her room for breakfast. Ariah made a noncommittal grunt as she moved past her to pour out some cereal. 

“Here,” Kalani said softly. “Coffee. Bitter like your soul, as you like it.” Ariah accepted it with a small nod of thanks, taking a grateful sip and letting the still-hot coffee warm her insides, which had been feeling none too pleasant only a few hours before. “So what’s up? Bad dreams?”

“Yeah,” Ariah lied into her cereal. “Same old stuff. Nothing to worry about.”

“You know you can talk to me,” Kalani said with a small frown, resting her spoon on the edge of her bowl. “If something’s bothering you…”

“I just need to clear my head,” Ariah insisted, hoping she wasn’t sounding too pushy or suspicious. Kalani would… well, after last night, she had no idea _ what _ Kalani would do if she found out that Ariah had heard it all. 

“I can understand that,” Kalani said, leaning back, and to Ariah’s relief, she only saw quiet sympathy on her friend’s face. “Is Prospect Park and maybe lunch okay?”

“Sure.” The two sat in silence for a few minutes, the clink of spoons on ceramic filling the space, before Kalani spoke again. 

“I didn’t have the greatest night’s sleep, either,” she confessed. “Something came up, and I wasn’t sure how to tell you.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Ariah replied, wondering where this was going. 

“No,” Kalani agreed. “I’ve been checking the news sites ever since I got back, because I missed a lot, and well--” She took a deep breath. “You remember the story about a month ago about a break-in at the police station? All the CCTV within a hundred miles of here had been looked over, and the ones near the airport and the roads near here were copied, possibly stolen.”

“Yes,” Ariah said slowly. She did remember the article, and had gotten a few friends from college to walk with her to her apartment in the weeks following, but what did that have to do with last night? 

“Take a look at this,” Kalani said, sliding her phone over to Ariah. “It was hard to decipher in the photo, but the guy in one of the photos they released in the press looked really familiar.” Ariah took the phone, and her stomach gave a funny lurch. The picture was grainy, clearly taken with a low-quality camera, but the dark jacket, scruffy hair, and the REI hiking boots were unmistakable.

“Jack?” Ariah breathed, giving the phone back. “It can’t be.”

“That’s what I thought,” Kalani said with a frown. “For some reason, the police only found one of the four vandals, and he was some shoddy homeless person who’d been bribed by an unknown person to break in and copy the files. They didn’t get him to squeal.”

“So what are you saying?” Ariah asked warily.

“I’m saying that maybe Jack isn’t as clean as you think he is,” Kalani said. “Even I thought he was, but I’m not sure anymore. This is going to sound awful, but I think it’s best if you stay around me for the time being. Don’t go anywhere alone and away from people. Carry pepper spray.”

“It’s a fairly common look,” Ariah protested weakly. 

“Can’t be too careful,” Kalani countered grimly. “If he is the guy in the picture, and he notices the extra security, he’ll either back off, or panic and make a mistake.” Her eyes took on a flinty look. “It’s good when those types panic. That means they make mistakes in their haste, and whatever they want with you, they’re more likely to be stopped.”

“I understand,” Ariah reassured her. “I’ve got the bat by the bed, and we can get an extra deadlock after lunch today?”

“That would be a good idea,” Kalani agreed. “You shouldn’t have anything to worry about, though, because they can’t catch you alone while I’m here. Plus,” she added with a wolfish grin, “I’ve picked up a couple of defense tips on the West Coast. C’mon, let’s go.” Ariah nodded, stacking her empty mug atop her cereal bowl and running both under cold water in the sink. 

“You still get dish duty,” Kalani sang as she retreated into the guest bedroom. Ariah rolled her eyes and rinsed off Kalani’s dishes as well, though the nagging question of _ how does this fit into what I heard last night? _ still stuck. With any luck-- good or bad-- she had a feeling she was going to find out very soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe foreshadowing


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: panic attack  
the beginning and end of it are marked with ** if this isn't your cup of tea. be safe!

“PHOTOS!” Ariah shrank back slightly as Kalani stormed past her, a crumpled envelope clenched in her hand and the rest of their mail in the other. Hesitantly, she peeked over the older girl’s shoulder to see several Polaroid photos of her and Kalani walking in the park, having lunch, even entering the hardware store. 

“How did they get those?” Ariah whispered, bile rising in her throat. “Are--are we being followed?”

“I don’t know,” Kalani replied, her eyes dark. “But we need to tighten up security around here. If these are the same people that managed to hack into the CCTV earlier, then that means they can potentially access any CCTV. Does this building have any?”

“No.”

**

“That’s good,” Kalani said, though the anger didn’t leave her eyes. “They still could have access to the hardware store, which means they might know which lock we got and how to crack it, and there’s cameras around the street, and--” Ariah tried to steady her breathing as Kalani’s voice faded into the background, replaced by white noise? Rushing water? She couldn’t tell. No, no, that wasn’t good-- she had to calm down, or someone could see her. They’d seen her walking around and took pictures. _ They’d followed her _ . What if they had access to the cameras outside her building? Inside? In her room, right here, right now? _ They could be watching her right now_. 

Her breath was speeding up even faster, but was getting trapped on the way up, producing a claustrophobic, seizing feeling in her chest. _ I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t-- _

A voice pierced through the crash of water, and arms shook her. As if peering through a clouded veil, Ariah watched herself be led to the bathroom, and her senses only came to her as she bent over the toilet bowl, dry heaving. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Kalani murmured from beside her, stroking her back slowly. “Deep breaths.”

_ Can’t stop, can’t look, what if they’re looking, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe-- _

“What are five things you can see?” Ariah gripped the bowl harder to try and stop the world from spinning.

“Toilet,” she mumbled. Kalani let out a soft laugh. “Water.” She raised her head slightly, and felt Kalani’s arms come around her and hold her gently. “Shower curtain. Wall. Towel.”

“Good,” Kalani said. “Four things you can touch?”

“Toilet, again. Floor. Bathmat. You.”

“Three things you hear?”

“You. People outside. Me.” 

“Two things you can smell?” 

“Cleaning stuff. Perfume.”

“One thing you can taste?”

“Falafel.” 

“Good,” Kalani soothed. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah,” Ariah said, shakily getting to her feet. The situation suddenly hit her and she felt a wave of embarrassment crash into her, knocking her metaphysical self off its feet and causing an algae-bloom red to spread across her cheeks. “God, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-- I’m sorry--”

“There’s no need to be sorry,” Kalani said firmly. “I’ll get you a glass of water--”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ariah babbled, unsteadily making her way to the door. “I can do it, I’m fine, I’m fine.” 

“You’re not,” Kalani said. “Come over to the couch. Just breathe. Get a pillow.” Ariah nodded, folding her legs into her chest and grabbing a blanket, working her fingers into the woven fabric. Kalani returned a few moments later, carrying a glass of water, which she curled Ariah’s hand around. 

**

“Sit with me?” Kalani offered, patting the seat next to her. “You can come closer.” Ariah obeyed, shifting closer. “We’re going to break it down and analyze it.

“First of all,” she began, “what are our facts?”

“We have an extra deadbolt,” Ariah suggested hesitantly. “And our door is solid wood.”

“That’s true,” Kalani said, nodding. “Keep going.”

“Our windows are secure and locked from the inside, and it’s hard to fit a switchblade in to open it from the outside. We’re on the second floor, so we’d hear someone climbing into the window.”

“We have the only keys, apart from the landowner,” Kalani added. “And there’s a weapon in every room to be used.”

“If we stick together and stay in a crowd, it’s harder for a stalker to pick us out individually if they want to--” Her breath caught in her throat, but Kalani picked up on the meaning, bobbing her head in agreement. 

“CCTV can also be on our side, too,” she said. “I can ask the police for help, and they can send an officer if it gets more serious.” 

“I don’t want to bother them,” Ariah protested. “I’m sure there’s lots of other crimes they could be dealing with instead of me.” 

“But this is their job,” Kalani insisted. “They’re trained to help people in situations like this, or else they’re horrible policemen.” 

“Ok…”

“Can you summarize everything that we have now?” Kalani prompted gently. 

“Extra bolts on the doors, locks on the windows, only three keys in circulation, two of which we have and one which we can check with the landlord about, and weapons,” Ariah listed. “But--”

“And you’re forgetting me,” Kalani teased. “Remember when I broke a kid’s nose in third grade because he was picking on you?”

“You got sent to the principal’s,” Ariah replied with a faint smile. Kalani nodded and cracked her knuckles.  
“And I’ll damn well do it again,” she said. “Shall I make a cup of tea? Rose tea is very nice, I heard.” Ariah nodded, and Kalani gently set the blanket aside, moving into the kitchen to fill the kettle with water. 

A small buzz vibrated against Ariah’s side just as her thoughts were beginning to drift, startling her. Digging her phone out of her jean pockets with shaking fingers, she saw a text from Jack.

**From: Jack**

_ [3:47 pm] haven’t heard from you in a while. everything okay? _

Ariah aimed a cursory glance around. As much as she was sure that Kalani would be against the idea of talking to Jack, if she didn’t tell him anything _ important _, he couldn’t do anything. If Jack was the stalker, and if Ariah got her message across all right, maybe he would think she wasn’t shaken by the photos. 

**To: Jack**

_[3:48 pm]_ _Yeah, I’m good. Was busy-- sorry. _

She received a laughing emoji in reply. 

**From: Jack **

_ [3:48 pm] that’s ok. have fun? _

**To: Jack**

_ [3:49 pm] Yeah. Everything’s cool here. _

**From: Jack**

_ [3:50 pm] yay! have to zoom, but i’ll call later if u want. still on for our usual time on sunday? _

**To: Jack**

_ [3:51 pm] Sounds good. _

“Who’re you talking to?” Kalani asked, setting two mugs of steaming tea on the coffee table. 

“Lia,” Ariah said, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “She was asking about colleges.” 

“I miss her,” groaned Kalani, handing Ariah her usual mug-- cats on a bridge with a starry backdrop. Kalani’s mug was more chaotic; it depicted a beach town in a cartoony style, in vibrant colors and cats peeking around the corners of 2D buildings. “She and I used to play Uno in study hall all the time, and she was a right sore loser, too. But she did beat me a fair amount of times, too.” 

“I remember,” Ariah agreed, smiling around the lip of her mug. “She and Clara would pile up plus-fours until you’d have a plus-sixteen stack. The teachers nearly busted us, with how angry you got.”

“You would too,” Kalani said archly. “The nerve! Heard from anyone else?”

“Not today, no, but Randall's at Georgia Tech now. His roommate got suspended three weeks in for having a pet boa constrictor living on top of the fridge.” Kalani whistled. 

“Now that’s a story he’ll be telling his kids someday.” 

“Mhm,” Ariah agreed, taking another sip of her tea. Rose tea was new, and left a slightly tangy taste on her tongue. 

“We’ll get through this, okay?” Kalani said, drawing Ariah’s attention back to her. Ariah took a deep breath, letting it shudder out and blow ripples across the still surface of the tea. Meeting Kalani’s steely gaze, she could see a hint of something _ else _ there, a spark of something amber and feral and determined. Dangerous, even. The spark was only there for a fraction of a second, maybe not even that, but a shiver still ran down Ariah’s back. Whatever-- whoever-- Kalani was, she was deadly serious about protecting Ariah. The only question was who she was protecting her _ from _.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what you missed if you skipped the ** ** 
> 
> kalani worries about security and ariah freaks out. they go through a calming exercise: five things you can see, four things you can feel, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. 
> 
> please correct me if i've made a mistake here!


End file.
